Protecting Pack
by imthekeptainnow
Summary: Someone takes Stiles' pack and he's determined to get them back. AU. Derek/Stiles. Erica/Boyd. Jackson/Danny. Scott/Isaac. Mentions of Peter/Lydia.


**Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Written for happyevraftr for the Teen Wolf Fall Harvest :)**

_**Beta'd by WithinHerHeart**_

**Let me know what you think! :P**

* * *

As an alpha's mate, there were many expectations that were placed upon Stiles.

He was supposed to care for the pups, keeping them warm, fed and sheltered. He was supposed to be the advisor, the one who could keep a cool head in a difficult situation and guide omega, beta, alpha to make the right decisions, whether it's for them or the pack. He was supposed to look after the alpha, soothe him when he was angry or sad; horny or vulnerable, because Derek would be unbearable most of the time otherwise. And, perhaps the one that he considered the most important, he was supposed to scare, maim, torture and kill for the pack; do anything that was necessary to protect them all from those who seek to do them harm, whoever they are.

It was that job that Stiles took the most seriously.

His hands were steady as he held the .45 semi-automatic assault rifle, poised towards the rogue hunters - two men and a woman - who had rolled into town just about two weeks ago. The hunters who had stupidly taken his pack.

A deal had been struck between the Argent family and the Hale pack, a little after the Alpha Pack fiasco; a reluctant truce that was made for the ultimate safety of both sides. It was mostly uneasy and neither side really trusted the other, but in situations like this, Stiles was grateful for their help, both for the back-up and the insisted weapons training for the humans that chose to run with wolves.

Now, in a run down warehouse on the edge of Beacon Hills, Chris and Allison stood as allies, with him and Danny, guns and crossbow drawn and ready to fire, staring down at the threesome who were clueless to the supernatural workings of the town.

Chris took control of the situation, as the eldest of the group and the one that had the most experience with these kinds of confrontations. His words were threatening and patronising, while his never faltering smile screamed out warnings of pain and death. Easily, he was the most intimidating out of all of them, and that was the reason he had taken the lead.

Well, one of them. Stiles was sure that if he had been allowed to confront them himself, he wouldn't be able to control his anger. Even now, standing to the side and watching the exchange, he wanted to shoot a round of bullets into the stupid bastards; to teach them a lesson for hurting his pack.

But, no. He was supposed to keep control, to be the one who would think clearly and logically, and to not make any rash decisions. So he locked his jaw and tightened his fingers, keeping himself as still as humanly possible, as if one jerked move would set him off.

'_In the end_,' he mused, '_they will get what they deserve_.'

"Where are they?" Chris demanded.

"Why do you even care, Argent?" one of the hunters questioned ludicrously. Vaguely, Stiles recognised him as the loudest, more headstrong of the trio. The one that didn't think before he opened his mouth. "You're a hunter yourself and these are just...just animals. Just like every other werewolf on this fucking planet. We're just doing our jobs."

In response, the eldest Argent clicked the safety off his gun. "Where, are they?" he repeated again slowly.

"And if you don't tell us," Allison added darkly, "We'll shoot."

There was a tense hesitation, as the three eyed each other nervously, as if silently deciding whether they were really serious or not. No one seemed really willing to divulge any information on the subject - at least until Chris shot the female hunter, probably the most bloodthirsty of the lot, in her kneecap. She went down with a sharp, piercing cry, clutching her wound as blood leaked heavily onto her jeans. She gritted her teeth and cursed loudly.

"The next bullet goes in her head," Chris replied, cocking his head. "Are you going to tell us now?"

"I-in the back," the third hunter, clearly the one with the most sense, stammered out, raising one shaking hand to point towards a metal door, something that resembled an industrial freezer, at the opposite end of the room, "We...we kept them in there."

"See, now wasn't that easy?" Allison commented.

"Stiles, Danny; get your pack," Chris ordered gently, knowing full well that ordering an alpha's mate - especially one as wound up as Stiles was at that moment, where the channelled wolf was so close to the surface - would only end up being more dangerous than it needed to be.

Danny tensed beside Stiles and he could practically see the straining muscles in his limbs, so ready to rush to get to their pack, but he kept in check. He had to wait for Stiles' permission, he knew that, so he waited and Stiles couldn't suppress the rush of pride that filled him at the show of respect from the human packmate.

He waited a moment before replying, carefully eyeing the harsh angles of the hunter's face, trying to determine whether he was leading them into a trap or not. He wasn't - the man had some intelligence about him, and although he might not understand the reasons for the alliance, he knew how seriously to take a threat. Satisfied, he lowered the gun slightly.

"Go," he murmured his consent. Danny moved ahead of him quickly, brushing his shoulder as he passed in silent gratitude. He waited a second before following.

Even with his dulled human senses, the stale smell of blood and pain was overwhelming; the first thing he noticed when Danny pried the steel door open. They coughed loudly, covering their noses with their sleeves and exchanged a worried look. Danny entered first, hesitantly, and his curse seemed to echo around the container.

Stiles had been angry before; had felt the pressure bubbling in the pit of his stomach and at the back of his throat as soon as he'd walked into the renovated Hale house, expecting to see his pack milling about and instead found the signs of a battle and bloodstains on the rug, but now, when he could see what had been done to his pack, his family, he was furious.

For the second time since the kidnapping, Stiles was grateful that Mrs. Martin had dragged Lydia, Peter and Caleb to some lake site in Oregon in an attempt to get to know her daughter and her family once more. The last thing he wanted was for any more of his pack, including the innocent cub, to be dragged into this.

They had been chained to the wall by long, thick, metal shackles that, judging by the unhealed pink skin beneath the straps, were laced with wolfsbane.

Scott was slumped on the concrete floor, his head bowed in a way that made it difficult to tell whether he was still conscious, although the bloody wound on his temple suggested he wasn't. Isaac, awake but just barely, was struggling weakly against the cuffs to try and get closer to his mate. Dried blood had fallen into his line of vision, over a scarred eye, and his jaw had been broken, the skin inflamed and bruised a disgusting yellow colour.

Boyd panted heavily, each causing waves of pain to fill him, and his eyes flickered uncontrollably between the animal's yellow orbs and his human's brown eyes, that shone with devastation. His elongated fangs hung over his bottom lip in a dangerous snarl. Erica was being held opposite him, too far for Boyd to reach and comfort and her breathing laboured unevenly with her choked sobs that she seemed unable to hold back. Stiles couldn't help the pang of sorrow that pierced and spread in his chest, at the amount of blood that surrounded her weak frame, stained her ripped clothing. The she-wolf had been six weeks pregnant with her first cub, and he made a silent pray for the life of the unborn baby, wishfully hoping the child was still with them.

Jackson was awake, perhaps the one that had suffered the least damage, and his eyes focused solely on the presence of Danny before him. His arm was twisted out of shape above his head and his breathing was shuddered, possibly from broken ribs. Danny swallowed heavily at the sight, and his feet moved on their own accord towards him, but he stalled after a few steps. Others needed more help than his mate.

"Danny, get Erica," Stiles ordered quickly, dropping his rifle to the ground, "We're going to need to get her to Mrs. McCall as soon as possible."

The other human nodded his understanding and moved towards the fallen woman. She whimpered at the touch and, for a moment, Stiles listened to her broken mutterings and Danny's attempts to soothe her with a heavy heart. He met Boyd's gaze, and used a straightened out paper clip he'd pulled from his jean pockets to pick the lock on the shackles.

"Get Erica out of here," he told him, pulling his phone from his back pocket and throwing it to the beta as he straightened himself out. "My dad and Mrs. McCall are only a few minutes away. Tell them what happened. She and the cub will be saved, do you understand me?"

Boyd nodded jerkily, and moved towards his mate, gently lifting her into his arms, her blood staining his shirt. He pressed his face into her matted hair and spoke lowly under his voice, leaving the freezer quickly.

Stiles then focused his attention on Scott. His arms fell heavily to the ground when they were freed, and his eyes were half lidded with pain.

"Come on man, you can pass out all you want when we get you out of here, but you need to stand up for me, okay?"

Scott nodded dazed and allowed himself to be helped unsteadily to his feet. Isaac was at his side in an instant, freed by Danny, half using the walk as a support, and his hands trembled as they reached up to trace the wound on the side of his head. Scott winced and let out a small whimper, but he leant into the touch like he needed it and, at this early stage of their mating, he did.

Stiles glanced towards Jackson from the corner of his eyes, watching as Danny pushing his face into the crook of his neck, in desperate need to just get closer and to know that the other man was alright. But they didn't have time for that, not right now.

"Jackson, Danny, can you support these two?" he questioned, "Take them to the car. Tell Mrs. McCall that they are second priority to Erica, okay?"

He waited patiently until the four had left, awkwardly stumbling into the door due to either the added weight or their injury, before he turned his attention to Derek, the one he had been purposely avoided looking at because, as Alpha, it was only expected that he could get the brunt of the violence.

Derek was staring at him intensely, his eyes glowing red and the tips of his fangs falling over of his parted lips, a reflex when in pain. He was standing awkwardly on his legs, putting all the weight on one that suggested that maybe it was broken. His chest was marred and slashed, deep and bloody; some mostly healed and others still heavily bleeding, and the whiteness of his rib bone peeked through the hole that had been cut out of his side was a stark contrast from all the red. His hands were clenched into tight fists, a sign that Stiles noticed instantly as him trying to rein in his control, no doubt fraying with the agony coursing through his veins.

Stiles stepped silently towards him, and stepped as close as he possibly could without hurting his mate, not caring about the blood that was now pressing into his t-shirt. One hand reached up to press against his cheek, feeling the tightness of his jaw, and the softness of his pale skin beneath his fingers, and couldn't help loving the way Derek leant into his touch, eyes fluttering closed briefly and his muscles losing some of their tension; loving how he allowed himself to be vulnerable around him, how he trusted him.

"Come on, let's get you out of here," he murmured under his breath.

When the chains fell away, Derek staggered into him, hissing under his breath at the sudden weight that was put on his leg and the shock of pain that shot through his system. Carefully, Stiles rearranged him to be supported, inclining his head to nuzzle the skin behind his ear, a silent apology.

The hunters hadn't moved by the time Derek and Stiles made their way out of the meat freezer. The female was still on the floor, clutching her knee and glaring darkly at the two Argents' in front of her, but the bleeding had slowed dramatically. Eyes flickered to them as they exited.

"Everyone out?" Chris questioned.

"Yeah, all out," Stiles nodded.

"Good," Chris lowered his weapon slightly and smiled that unnerving smile again, "Gentleman, ma'am, I think our business is done here."

"Actually, not quite," the teenager corrected. Curious eyes turned to him, "You see, you took my pack from me, and I'm not one to roll over and let you do it again to mine, or anyone else's so..."

Using one hand, Stiles pulled the handgun he kept in the back of his jeans out and his fingers squeezed around the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed loudly around the large room, and one hunter fell with a grunt to the floor, clutching his chest, where the bullet had gone straight through the middle of his chest. Vaguely, Stiles heard sounds of outrage and protest from the humans before him, but he was too far gone to care. They had hurt his pack, and they needed to be punished.

Another shot fired, the female this time; the bullet hole in the centre of her forehead. She barely managed a squeak of surprise before her eyes glazed over, heart stopped beating and she slumped, dead to the floor.

The last tried to run away, thought he could escape. Three bullets were let off, hitting three vital organs from behind. He hit the floor and his body jerked helplessly.

The silence was deafening compared to the previous echo of the assault. Stiles' face was emotionless as he slid the weapon back into his back pocket. Chris looked ready to say something, his eyebrows drawn together in frustration and his lips pulled into an outraged frown, but Stiles silenced him with one steely look.

"Now, our business is done, Chris," he stated, already turning to carry the wounded alpha out of the warehouse.

* * *

"Ah, fuck-"Stiles cursed loudly, his voice drifting into a pleasured noise, as he grounded down firmly onto Derek's cock. He growled lowly and thrust his hips upward firmly, jerking Stiles' forward so he had to tighten his grip on the headboard.

Derek's eyes flashed red and his grip on his mate's hips tightened. Claws grew, if only slightly, not enough to break through the softness of his skin but enough for Stiles to know that he was losing control, something that made the teenager grin smugly. Biting his bottom lip, he moved purposely, his thighs quaking with the effort to lift himself off; trying to keep a steady rhythm but it was worth it. _So_ worth it. Derek's cock was deep inside of him, filling him up, and the head nudged his prostate hard enough to make him see stars.

_Definitely_ worth it.

Stiles knew that technically he shouldn't be doing this. Doctor's orders. "He might be a werewolf, but he's still healing. Nothing strenuous, understand Stiles?" Melissa McCall had told him firmly, but seriously, what did she expect? His mate had been gone for three days! And it wasn't as if Derek was doing anything, um, _demanding_ – it was Stiles that was doing all the work. Not that it was exactly a hard ship for him.

Derek was close, Stiles could feel it. With every jerk downwards, the swelling of his knot hooked on his rim, making him moan loudly and want to desperately rock back onto it. But not yet. One of Derek's hands slipped behind him, pawing at the swell of his ass and trailing his fingers along the crack, feeling where they were connected. Stiles couldn't suppress his cry when the tip of one finger slipped in beside Derek's cock and roll into the feeling.

Stiles stopped him when he tried to sit up, a firm had on his shoulder, forcing him back onto the pillows. "No, don't pull your stitches," he muttered, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

"Stiles…" Derek rumbled out, a cross between begging for his release and cursing for the lack of it.

Stiles released one hand on the headboard to interlock in Derek's hair, tugging on the strands firmly, making the wolf bare his teeth in protest to his submission. He knew Derek didn't like to submit, didn't like to be out of control, and that was why these moments were even more extraordinary. He released his hair a moment later, moving to the hand on his hip and easily leading it towards his cock. He let out a shuddered moan at the tight grip around his swollen member.

"Jerk me," he breathed out the order, whimpering as he thrust downward.

When it came to making Stiles' cum, Derek took his job very seriously. He set off at a furious pace, his fingernails scrapping the vein on the underside of his cock, before pressing into his slit, collecting the streams of pre-cum to spread over the erection. The finger in his ass became two, scissoring and stretching – preparing him to take the knot that was rock hard, _ready, so ready_.

Taking in a shaky breath and closing eyes, Stiles pressed down, moaning loudly at the pain pleasure of the stretch. He felt the moment that Derek gave himself over to the satisfaction. His grip faltered around his cock, tightening slightly, and his hips jerked forward uncontrollably.

Stiles could feel the eruption of cum inside of him, painting his insides with every spurt; the feeling immense and overwhelming and just something that he knew he would never get used to. It was like that - being filled with cum, knot pressed firmly against his prostrate, his cock caught in a strong grip, red eyes watching his every reaction like it was something so sacred – that Stiles finally reached his climax with a sharp cry, his body trembling violently.

He awkwardly caught himself on the headboard, not wanting to drop heavily on Derek's injured chest. The man made a small whine of objection and gently encouraged his mate to lie beside him. It was this moment that Stiles really loved, the moment after the sex. Not that the sex wasn't amazing because, fuck, it was, but it was afterwards, when he and Derek would be connected for the next few hours, unable to part from each other, that Stiles found the most comfort.

He tucked his head under Derek's chin, breathing in his wonderful earthly scent from the sweat that pooled in the crook of his neck, and traced random patterns onto his shoulder blades. Derek hummed, nuzzling his cheek, and peppering kisses along his cheekbones and the shell of his ear. They were silent for a moment, just soaking in the afterglow.

But, eventually, they would have to talk.

"…How's Erica?" Derek questioned lowly.

Stiles sighed. The girl had been stable when he was finally allowed to see his mate. She'd been asleep – sedated because of her hysteria – under the watchful eyes of Boyd, who held her close to his chest, his hand hovering, but never daring to touch, over the healing scar on her abdomen.

"Alive," he finally answered, "Melissa said that she and the cub have a high likelihood of survival, which is a good thing. We just have to wait and see what happens. Right now, she needs to rest and heal."

"And the others?"

"Scott's had a concussion so he has to stay awake for the next 12 hours, just as a precaution – Isaac is going to stay with him at the McCall house tonight, to keep watch. Jackson was sleeping on Danny's lap when I left," he explained, "Oh, and I expect a call from Peter in the next few hours because Lydia will be freaking out."

"And what about you?" Derek asked carefully, "Are you freaking out?"

"…No, why would I be?" Stiles tried to play dumb. He knew exactly what Derek was talking about.

The man pulled backwards slightly and pinned him with a disbelieving look. "Stiles, you killed three people today. Shouldn't you, I don't know, be feeling something?"

"What like disgust or remorse or sorrow? For those hunters - the ones that kidnapped you; tortured you for four days and may have killed a pack cub?" Stiles shot back, "No, Derek, I don't feel anything for those bastards. They hurt you, they hurt our pack – I couldn't just sit back and let them go. I have to protect you all and if it takes shooting some dipshit hunters, then I will, because keeping you safe is all that matters, okay?"

Derek looked at him with something akin to both worry and pride. Worry, because he was human and humans should feel guilt for being the reason lives were ended. Pride, because his mate was powerful enough to protect his own. Stiles smiled slightly, reaching one hand up to cup his cheek, stroking the outline of his cheekbone. Derek leant into the touch.

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Stiles requested, "Can we just…be happy that the pack is alive and safe?"

Derek hesitated for a moment, before he nodded easily. He settled back against his pillow, drawing Stiles closer who let out a pleasured noise when his cock moved within him. Derek kissed along his jaw line, leading a trail to his parted lips, where he dipped his tongue for a taste.

Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief, the weight of the last few days leaving him in a sudden rush. _They were safe. The pack was safe. Derek was safe. That's all that mattered._


End file.
